


Good Times (Gone)

by scap3goat (kriegswaffel)



Category: MASH (TV)
Genre: First Meetings, Gen or Pre-Slash, M/M, Not Beta Read
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-29
Updated: 2014-12-29
Packaged: 2018-03-04 04:55:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 499
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2953121
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kriegswaffel/pseuds/scap3goat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Some first impressions might be wrong but oh so right at the same time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Good Times (Gone)

“Captain Pierce,” yelled a black-haired, tall man over the deafening sound of helicopter blades and helped Francis out of the helicopter, a warm hand in the back of his neck, fingertips buried in Francis’ short hair. “Benjamin Franklin - my Dad must’ve thought I’d sign something important some day, not just my draft papers.”

It took a moment before Francis realised that had been an introduction.

“Mulcahy, John Patrick Francis,” he replied automatically as he clutched his luggage close and it drew a laugh from Pierce as he led Francis to the camp, eventually letting go when they were out of the helicopter zone. Francis straightened and gave the man a once-over just as he was given one as well before being dragged along again.

“You’re a Lieutenant? Wow, haven’t seen a Lieutenant around, but if skill and rank are connected I’ve got high hopes for you. Must be a wunderkind, considering Frank’s a Major. Yeah, probably a wunderkind, you do look like you’ve barely come out of pre-med. Sorry to drag you in right away, but we’ve been hit bad and we can use any help.”

Mulcahy followed the man, unable to get a word in to clear up this misunderstanding.

“Or are you a nurse? I don’t think I’ve seen a male nurse in the corps, but there’s a first time for everything. Just be careful around Trapper, his fingers smell a nurse a mile away and get all itchy. Just stick with me, I’ll buy you a home-brewed drink first.”

The priest was a little taken aback but still smiled at the antics of the Captain who’d just thrown an arm around his shoulders and led him off to pre-OP.

“So, what is it? Are you gonna steer or navigate at the table?”

Two incredibly blue eyes were directed at him and for a moment Mulcahy didn’t even notice that he was supposed to answer. “Oh. Oh, sorry. I suppose I’ll do neither. I’m actually the new chaplain. Father Mulcahy, but my friends call me Francis.”

“Oh,” replied the surgeon, his face falling for a split second, then he pulled away and shook the offered hand. “Of course. Now that you mention it I can see that… that’s a cross on your lapel, not a medieval scalpel. Sorry.”

For a split second it felt as if something between them had broken before it had even begun.

“I guess I’ll leave you to settle then, we’ll get someone to get you if we need you. Let’s hope we don’t.”

“Don’t worry, I tried to prepare for the worst.” 

“Hey, the offer of a drink still stands. Now you won’t even have to fear Trap’s fingers.”

Mulcahy smiled shyly. “I think I’m trying to take it as a compliment, Ben.”

“Hawkeye. My friends call me Hawkeye.” With that he turned around and sprinted into pre-OP and Francis turned to the chaplain’s tent they’d passed. Thankfully he was too busy to think about the weird encounter with Ben - with Hawkeye.


End file.
